


Zersetzung

by fulmeryinhevyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s Berlin, Angst with a Happy Ending, Berlin Wall, Double Agents, East Germany, F/M, Fall of the Berlin Wall, Featuring The Fruits of My Limited German Language Skills, Former Stasi In The Streets, GDR, I Have Made Every Attempt To Be Respectful Of The Actual History Here, Ich bin Berliner, Implied hea, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren Redemption, Kylo Ren was in the Stasi, Redeemed Ben Solo In The Sheets, Reporter Rey, Spies, This Is My Way of Dealing With TROS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulmeryinhevyn/pseuds/fulmeryinhevyn
Summary: Reporter Rey Martin is living in Berlin, drifting from story to story until the opportunity of a lifetime lands in her lap.  A high ranking former member of the GDR government is ready to tell his story ahead of the release of another batch of secret files and he’s chosen her to write it.  Little does she know that revealing former Deputy Chairman Kylo Ren’s secrets will force her to confront her past as well.
Relationships: Ben Solo/Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey
Comments: 50
Kudos: 105





	Zersetzung

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t want anyone to think that I’m making light of the serious and traumatic events that occurred in former East Germany with this story. I’ve been fascinated by the history after recently taking a trip to Berlin. I tried to research each element of the history and organizations that I’ve mentioned here. If I’ve made any mistakes with the language or the history, I take full responsibility!  
>    
> Republikflucht  
>    
> Free German Youth
> 
> Info on East German Assassins
> 
> Berlin Slang
> 
> Forced Adoptions in East Germany
> 
> Zersetzung
> 
> Release of Stasi Files
> 
> Rey’s character is partially based on the experiences of Anna Funder. She wrote about her time in Berlin in the memoir  Stasiland.

“What’s your first memory? The first thing you remember as a child?”

“Really? That’s where you want to start?”

“Why not? People will want to understand you as a person to understand why you did what you did.”

“There’s nothing to understand. I had a normal childhood.”

“Normal?”

“Well, as normal as things could be with my family background.”

“That was normal for you?”

“I suppose. Normal is relative. I didn’t know any other way of being.”

“And were you happy—a happy child?”

“No. I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?”

“I’d say that I...was. I just was.”

—————

Rey shivers in the late November chill of the city. Her oversized thrifted wool jacket keeps most of the wind at bay, but it still seeps in through the spaces left between her collar and a truly hideous polyester blend scarf she’d picked up at the _Kaufhalle_. Sighing and burying her face deeper into the checked plaid, she hoists her canvas backpack further up on her shoulder as she weaves through the puddles of icy water left from a later afternoon rain storm. Her brown hair whips out from the low bun at the back of her head and lashes at her at her eyes. 

Nerves start to flutter in her stomach as she moves through the busy sidewalks. She still wasn’t sure why he’d chosen her. _He’d chosen her._ Rey Martin. Rey with the borrowed last name and the minor byline in a low circulation London daily newspaper. Rey with the high school German which hadn’t at all prepared her for the Berliner dialect. 

She was nobody, but he’d chosen her all the same.

Ostensibly, her editor told her that he’d asked for her because he liked the way she wrote. That could hardly be true, though. Rey’s writing was semi-inspired on her best days, but fair to middling a good majority of the time. She’d been sent here because they didn’t know what else to do with her. Her fair knowledge of German had been little more than an excuse—it was either this or nothing. The thought of nothing was too terrifying to comprehend in the face of rent and bills and the need for groceries.

There was also— But no. Rey wouldn’t allow herself to think too closely about that.

She hated the city as much as she loved it. Cheap rent rates allowed her a pre-war apartment filled with crumbling plaster accents, cracked linoleum floors, and a coal fired stove to heat it. Rey filled her fridge with cheap beer and canned food from the corner market. At night, she could hear the drunks stumbling out of the nearby park, singing as they made their way home. It was dark and grimy and cold and she felt as if she hadn’t seen the sun for days.

But there were moments of brightness. 

The _Oma_ from the nearby bakery no longer scowled at her when she came in to buy _Schrippe_ (not _Brötchen_ as her textbook German had taught her). Occasionally, the woman would give her an extra roll while shaking her head and muttering about “skin and bones.”

There was also the freedom the city afforded her. She could follow the stories she wanted to write—so she wrote about the food and the music and the people who’d survived political upheavals. As long as there was a new column every week, her editor was happy. 

Everything changed the moment she’d gotten the phone call from her editor.

“He wants to talk to you.” The crackle of the line barely disguised the mix of surprise and disgust in Hux’s voice. 

“Me? But why— He’s— I’m nobody and he’s—” she stammers.

“Something about a ‘quality’ in your writing. Who knows? It gave me the creeps just talking to him. But this is huge. Huge, Rey. You can’t fuck this up.”

“Right. Of course. Did he say—”

Her editor interrupts. “He’s going to call you. This afternoon. He wants to meet as soon as possible. I’m not sure I quite understand the urgency, but…” Hux trails off. 

“This afternoon?” she squeaks out. 

“Yes. Get this story, Rey. This could be your ticket back to the London bureau.”

The line goes dead before she has the chance to respond. 

After an hour of nervous pacing and chewed fingernails, the phone rings again.

“ _Guten Tag_ ,” she says, willing her voice to remain calm.

“I think it’s better if we switch to English. Your pronunciation is atrocious,” says a deep voice, only lightly accented. “Five o’clock. Prendener Strasse 92. Don’t be late.” Again, the line goes dead.

Which is how Rey finds herself, at last, standing in front of a concrete apartment building at ten minutes to five, searching the list of names and door buzzers for her quarry.

Ren. 5B. 

Hesitantly, she reaches out, her hand hovering over the button before finally pushing it firmly. The door clicks open with a soft sound and she pulled it open, battling the wind as she tripped her way into the spartan lobby. Tightening the straps of her backpack, she trudges her way up the stairs, the firm rubber of her Doc Martins echoing in the stairwell. When, at last, she reaches the fifth floor, she is a sweaty, panting, anxious ball of nerves. 

_I can do this. I can do this. He’s no different than any other story._

But that wasn’t true. He was completely different from every other story.

Stepping off the landing and moving in front of 5B, Rey takes a deep breath and knocks. The door swings open almost immediately and the sight of the man in front of her takes her breath away.

She had, of course, done her research. Rey had seen the grainy pictures in official German Democratic Republic publications and read the descriptions of Wilhelm Snoke’s shadowy second-in-command, but nothing had prepared Rey for the presence of the man himself. Dark eyes stare down at her from a furrowed brow. His black hair was long and wavy, covering his ears and a good portion of his neck—a far cry from the short, military regulation haircut he’d sported just years earlier. He would never be considered handsome, she thought, but there was a beauty mixed in with the cruelty of his gaze.

Straightening her shoulders, she meets that gaze head on. “ _Guten Tag, Herr Ren. Mein Name ist_ Rey Martin.” 

His lip curls slightly in disgust. “No more. Your German hurts my ears.” He turns abruptly and walks back into the apartment, leaving her standing in front of the open door.

“I guess that means ‘come in,’” she mutters to herself, stepping inside. Once the door is shut behind her, the hallway is plunged into near darkness. An uneasiness settles over her and she pauses, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

After a moment, she moves forward toward a source of light in the distance. She soon finds herself in a plain, but serviceable, kitchen. A small table is set to one side of the room, three chairs placed around it and a yellow tinged overhead light hanging above it. He is waiting for her there, his large frame looking surprisingly at ease in such a small chair, a wreath of smoke hovering like a halo around his head in the dim lighting. He looks at her as he takes a long drag from the cigarette held between his fingers. 

“Sit,” he commands.

Her hackles rise at being ordered around, but she tamps down the flare of anger and moves to sit in the chair opposite him. She deliberately avoids his stare as she begins unpacking things from her bag—a notebook and several pencils, a small tape recorder, and a tiny pocket sized German dictionary are soon laid out neatly in front of her. Finally, when there is nothing else left for her to do, she snaps open her notebook, grabs a pencil, and looks up.

“I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you,” she says.

“Let’s leave the pleasantries, shall we? We both know why you’re here.”

“I’m here because I want to hear your story.”

“No, you’re here to hear my confession.”

“If you like.” Rey shrugs.

“I don’t like,” he snaps back at her. “I don’t like that this has been taken out of my control. But soon, the story will be out, no matter what I do. So I will tell the story my way before the official files are released.”

She tenses. “That’s what this is? The government is set to release another batch of files?”

“Yes. I was tipped off. And so I will tell the story the way I want to tell it.”

“Then why do you need me?” She begins to stand, making a deliberate show of repacking her things. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need to be some cog in his machine.

“Because you listen.”

That stops her for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You listen to the people you write about. You let them talk and you don’t pass judgment. That’s the real story—how you allow the reality to speak for itself.”

She freezes, a shiver of—something—shooting up her spine. She doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like that a man she’s never met with a history like his can strip back her exterior within a moment of meeting her. This is dangerous. “I prefer to allow people to make their own decisions about what I write,” she says carefully. “But I’ve never interviewed a murderer before. I’m not sure the same rules apply to you.” The words are out before she can stop herself and she regrets them the moment they leave her lips. This is not a man she wants to anger—this is not a man that she can afford to anger. 

To her complete surprise, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ll concede that point.”

Slowly, she sits back down, his response intriguing, despite her wariness. “What do you want from me?”

His gaze darkens and his features go cold. “I want you to tell my story. Nothing more.”

“I won’t lie. I won’t protect you. I know who you are and what you’ve done.” Rey can hardly believe what she’s saying, but there’s a part of her that knows, no matter what, she can’t compromise here.

“You may think you know, but the truth is so much more complex than that.”

“Truth is truth. Wrong is wrong and right is right.”

He snorts. “If you think it’s that simple, maybe you should leave.”

“Truth is simple.”

He stubs out the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray and then reaches for the pack to light another. “See if you feel that way by the time we’re done.”

Rey reaches for her recorder. “Do you mind—?” 

He shakes his head. “No. As long as you’re the only one who listens to these.”

“I can’t guarantee that. My editor will want access to these for fact checking—”

“No,” he snaps. “Only you. I’ll provide you with documents or eyewitnesses to corroborate anything you need, but you are the only one who listens to the tapes. Agreed?”

Rey hesitates, hearing the sound of Hux’s protests in her head already. The lure of the story is too great, however. “Agreed. If it can’t be corroborated, though, it’s not going in the story.”

He nods his agreement. “Fine. Let us begin.”

—————

“So your childhood wasn’t happy. Why?”

“My mother and father were frequently in prison. That hardly makes for a stable upbringing.”

“Did you know why they were in prison?”

“I knew that they did things that they shouldn’t have. And that they were being punished. I suppose I felt it was no different than from when I misbehaved as a child.”

“And when is the first time that you realized your parents were actually committing treason in the eyes of the state?”

“I was twelve. My mother was sent to prison again and was gone for months.”

“Is that when you decided to work for the state?”

“That is when they brought me in and had me start informing on my parents.”

“Did they—”

“Hurt me? No. Not at that time. But they threatened my family. They told me that I could help them this way. You have to remember, we were being indoctrinated, even as children. I didn’t know any differently. My parents didn’t talk openly about their beliefs.”

“And then what?”

“You know. My mother and father were bought by the West and left me behind.”

“Tell me more about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“How did you feel? What did you think happened?”

“How did I feel? I was a child whose parents had abandoned him. How did you think I felt?”

“They weren’t given any choice in the matter, though. The money was paid and they were shuttled over the border almost immediately. They couldn’t get back to you. Your mother— You know how she went on television, to the government, to anyone who would listen to plead for them to send you too.”

“She and my father left me. They left me here alone and I did what I had to do to survive.”

—————

Rey stands and pushes back from the table, pausing the recorder. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, her voice tight with repressed emotion.

He looks up at her, his eyes boring into her. “Down the hall. Second door on the right.”

She moves quickly, nearly running once she emerges into the hallway. She closes the door firmly behind her and locks it, sliding down the back of the door until she’s sitting on the floor, taking great heaving breaths of air as she struggles to regain her composure.

His mother was famous for her television appeals to the East, begging them to release her son to her. Leia Organa Solo had become a prominent figure in the West German efforts to topple the regime. Her son had become just as famous—but it wasn’t until the wall fell that the real stories of Benjamin Solo’s life began to emerge.

When she thought about his mother—his mother who had never once given up hope of being reunited with her son—who had worked every day to make that happen— While she’d been left like a piece of discarded trash on the streets until a policeman had picked her up and brought her to an orphanage.

Her chest tightens, signaling an oncoming panic attack, and she struggles to breathe through it. 

_Not here. Not now. Not with him._

There’s a sharp rap at the door. “We can stop for today,” he says, his voice muffled through the wood.

“That’s not necessary,” she snaps back. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Her anger at him grounds her and she stands. Moving to the sink, she splashes cold water on her face and counts to ten. Then she reemerges and moves back to the kitchen table.

He’s there, waiting with two steaming cups. “Coffee?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Rey’s pleased by how even her voice sounds. She sits, accepting the coffee, and then turns the tape recorder back on again. 

He reaches forward and turns it off. “Why did that upset you so much?”

“It didn’t.” The lie sounds hollow even to her ears.

He chuckles. “You think you can lie to me? I’m an expert.”

Her eyes snap up to meet his, shooting sparks. “My parents also left me, but, unlike yours, mine didn’t care to be reunited with me. Ever.”

Rey swears that there’s a momentary softening around his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Then you know what it feels like.”

“I don’t. Your parents gave a damn about you and you just threw that away.” She’s in too deep now—it’s too personal and it will ruin the story. Rey can see the house of cards teetering around her.

“Maybe. But I also was brainwashed from a very young age. Things were different then.”

“What about now? You could go to her now.”

His eyes flash steel. “And say what? ‘I’ve missed you? Sorry for betraying all that you believed in?’”

“She’d forgive you. She’s your mother.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t understand a thing about it.” His voice has become a growl and she can hear the underlying warning. This is too much. This is too far. She shouldn’t have come here.

“I should go. This was a mistake.”

“You’re scared. You let your past hold you back. That’s the difference between us.”

Rey ignores him as she hurriedly stuffs her things back into her backpack. “I’ll find another reporter to write the story.”

“I don’t want another reporter.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

“Stop holding back. You’re holding yourself back from what you really feel.”

Rey has that same sensation again—of being exposed and picked apart. It makes her furious. “And what about you! You’re just a scared little boy who won’t forgive his mother for one mistake!”

“And you’re a scared little girl who can’t face the truth that her parents are never coming back for her.”

Rey sweeps her bag off of the table, knocking the full cup of coffee to the floor and breaking it in the process. She rushes from the apartment, slamming the door behind her and running for the cold Berlin night air outside.

—————

She walks the dark streets back to her apartment, confused and enraged and terrified all at once. The sounds of the nighttime begin to work their way into her consciousness and her body begins to tremble, weak from the outburst of emotion. Stumbling up the steps, she lets herself into her apartment and locks the door, collapsing onto her bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

The next morning, she’s awoken by the persistent ringing of her telephone. 

“ _Morgen_ ,” she mumbles, nearly dropping the phone as she battles the remnants of sleep.

“I won’t be available until this afternoon.” The voice doesn’t identify itself, but it’s hardly necessary. The low rumble of former Deputy Chairman Kylo Ren’s voice worked its way through the phone line into her ear, coming to settle as the ghost of a shiver across her shoulder blades. 

“I— I don’t think I’m the right person for this.”

“Why is that?” he responds. She can almost hear the smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Because of last night? No. Those were just our opening moves. The pawns have been sacrificed and the real game can begin now.”

“Is that what this is to you? A game?” she snaps. “Because if you think that I’m going to write some sort of puff piece to help you rehabilitate your image, you’re mistaken.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you at two then.” The line goes dead.

Rey is left sitting in her bed, staring down dumbly at the phone in her hand. She rises from the bed and goes through the motions of readying herself for the day. A quick shower clears her head and she’s starting to think more clearly as she boils water for a cup of coffee. She pulls out the tape recorder and leaves it sitting in the middle of her kitchen table while she fixes her coffee and eats a day old roll from the bakery bag on her counter. Finally, she forces herself to walk toward the recorder, rewind the tape, and then press play. Almost immediately, Kylo Ren’s voice fills the small space. 

She sits down, sipping her coffee and staring out the small, grimy window of her kitchen. She listens to the whole thing once, then rewinds it and listens again. There’s—something—something she’s missing in all this. 

Picking up her kitchen phone, she dials Hux’s desk at the London office.

It rings twice before he picks up. “Hux.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Who—? Rey?”

“Yes. It’s me. There’s something—wrong—about him.”

Hux sighs the long suffering sigh of an editor. “Rey, he made it very clear that it was to be you and no one else.”

“But, why?”

“I told you—“

Rey cuts him off. “That’s bullshit and you know it. I’m not good. I’m adequate.”

Silence stretches over the phone line. “He seemed to know—a lot about you.”

Her body goes cold. “What does that mean?”

“Rey—“

“No. What does that mean?”

He sighs again. “I think he looked into you.”

Rey clutches the phone so hard that her knuckles start to ache. “Looked into me?”

“He’s probably still got contacts. It’s just a feeling.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that before I went over there? Alone?” she asks angrily. “You could have prepared me. What if he wanted—“

“If he wanted that, you’d already be—“ Hux trails off.

Rey is so furious her body vibrates. “I’m not going back there. I’m not doing this.”

The line is quiet again. Finally, Hux speaks. “Okay. I understand. I’ll contact him.”

“Good.” She doesn’t bother with any further pleasantries, hanging up on him.

She sits back down at the table and stares at the recorder in the middle of the table. Finally, she grabs it and takes it to the bedroom, pulling the tape out and shoving it in the back of her dresser, hiding it under layers of sweaters. She slams the drawer shut and tries to forget about it for several hours as she moves around the apartment, cleaning and straightening the small area. After that, in an attempt to stay busy, she pulls on her jacket and walks to the corner store for an unnecessary shopping trip. She’s struggling with a bag of oranges and fumbling for her keys as she turns the corner near her apartment building and stops dead in her tracks. A large black sedan sits idling at the curb. 

Rey freezes, paralyzed by indecision. _Has he seen her? Can she turn around? Where would she go?_

In the ten seconds it takes her brain to process these questions, the door to the sedan opens and he steps out, facing her. He stands there patiently, an imposing figure dressed entirely in black, not making a move toward her. It’s clear he’s waiting for her to decide the next course of action.

Rey knows it’s pointless to run now. She moves forward slowly, fully intending on screaming for help.

He must see the wariness in her eyes. He holds his hands up in a gesture that Rey assumes is supposed to be comforting. Instead, she’s mesmerized by the size of his hands, encased in black leather gloves that look like they cost an entire month’s worth of her rent. “I only want to talk,” he says, his voice low.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Rey hates how weak and shaky her voice comes out. “I want you to leave.” She sees a flash of—hurt? Is that possible? It’s gone as quickly as it comes.

He lowers his hands. “I understand and I will go. However, I have something that you may wish to know.”

“I doubt that.”

He straightens to his full height. “I know who your parents are, _Frau_ Martin.”

The bag of oranges slip from her grip and roll over the muddy concrete.

—————

She’s dimly aware that he’s following behind her, having gathered the spilled oranges in his arms. Rey, for her part, can’t find her voice. She doesn’t cry out or scream or do anything to stop him. Instead, she numbly unlocks the door and pulls off her coat, dropping it to the floor of the hallway while kicking off her boots. 

Stumbling to the right, she enters the kitchen and moves to the fridge. She pulls out a beer, looks at it a moment, then returns it to the shelf in the fridge. She pulls herself up on the counter so that she can stand and reach the bottle of cheap vodka she’s hidden at the back of the corner cabinet. 

On autopilot, she takes a glass from the sink and pours herself a healthy amount, lifting it to her lips. The burn brings her to her senses and she feels her body start to tremble. She sits down hard on one of the kitchen chairs.

Kylo Ren looks oversized in the small space of her apartment. Despite that, he moves gracefully. He carefully deposits the oranges on the table and then sits down in the chair across from her, folding his hands in front of him. It’s then Rey notices that he’s shed his coat but the gloves remain.

“I don’t believe you know anything,” she says, not looking at him. “You may think you know, but it’s impossible. They didn’t want to be found.”

“Perhaps. But my contacts have found information that would appear to match your situation.”

“Fine. Then tell me. Who are my parents?” She wills her voice to remain steady and keeps her eyes firmly fixed on her empty glass, hoping that he’ll interpret it as a sign of her indifference.

“Write the story. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

Her eyes whip up to meet his. “What?”

He leans forward, his gaze intent. “I told you. I want you to write the story. If you do, I’ll tell you everything I know about your parents.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything.” She grabs for the bottle of vodka and pours herself more. 

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it Reike?”

Rey swears the ground drops out from underneath her. “That’s—not my name.”

“It was though, wasn’t it? That’s what you told the orphanage.”

She slams her hand down on the table, hard. Her fingers go numb with the force, but she welcomes the sharp pain that accompanies it. “All that proves is that you found those records. It’s not hard to do.”

“True.” He reaches forward, plucking the glass out of her hands and draining what’s left of the vodka. “But I was also able to cross-reference information with _Republikflüchtlinge_ from around the time you were found wandering the streets of London. There’s several interesting possibilities. It’s only a matter of time until the information matches up.”

“They may not have been East German,” she says weakly. 

He clucks his tongue. “Now now, Reike. We both know that’s not true.”

“Stop calling me that!” she yells shrilly.

He smirks at her. “Of course, _Frau_ Martin.” He stands. “I’ll give you some time to consider the offer. If you’re willing to move forward, I’ll expect you tomorrow afternoon. 2 pm?” With a nod, he sweeps from the kitchen and she soon hears the front door open and close.

Rey sits, staring down at the oranges scattered over the table top. It’s hours before she has the energy to move. She finally drags herself to the bedroom, taking the bottle of vodka with her. An hour after that, the alcohol finally does its work and she passes out.

—————

“I’m glad you’ve reconsidered.”

“Shut up. Just answer my questions.”

“Gladly—as long as they pertain to your story.”

“No. Before I agree to move forward with this, I need more information. I need assurances that you’re not lying.”

“I’m hurt by the accusation.”

“You’ll live.”

“I thought we’d established a level of trust, _Frau_ Martin. I’m wounded by your suspicion.”

“You’ve done much worse in the service of bad people. Forgive me if I need more than your word. And stop calling me that.”

“Of course, Reike.”

“My name is Rey.”

“And mine is Benjamin. There. Does that help?”

“I thought you’d disavowed that name.”

“I have. But I will allow you to call me that, if it helps.”

“It doesn’t, but it’s better than continuing to call you Deputy Chairman Ren.”

“Good. Then let us begin.”

—————

Rey reaches forward and places the tape recorder between them, pressing the button to begin recording. This time, he’s moved them into his living room. It’s more comfortable than she would have imagined. He’s sitting in an overstuffed armchair to her right, bookshelves piled high with books behind him. She’s chosen to keep as much space between them as possible and perches herself on the couch on the other side of the coffee table. 

“Last time, we had just begun discussing your start in the Free German Youth organization.” She struggles to remain professional in the face of her anger toward this man.

“Yes, that was where Chairman Snoke first noticed me.”

“And you enjoyed being a part of it?”

“I enjoyed belonging somewhere—to something.”

Rey’s eyes snap up to meet his. It’s the first time that his words feel like an admission of something deeper. “And you hadn’t felt that way before?”

“When you’ve been abandoned as a child, isn’t that what you seek? Belonging?” His eyes hold hers intently and something passes between them that Rey’s not sure she likes. 

_Understanding. Recognition._

“I suppose,” she replies, trying to sound unaffected. “But you weren’t abandoned. Not really. Your parents were exiled and you were given to another family as a part of the GDR’s policies rewarding those loyal to the state.”

He snorts. “Yes. And what a wonderful family it was.”

“Tell me about them.”

“They never forgot whose child I really was.” His eyes take on a haunted look—one that Rey knows all too well.

“What did they—“

“It doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say, it made me into who I am today.”

“A murderer?” The words slip from her lips before she realizes she’s said them.

“Among other things.”

“What else? What else are you?”

“A spy. A loyal party member. A monster. I’ve been called many things.”

“And what’s true?”

“All of it and none of it.”

Rey sighs in frustration. “You’re talking in circles.” She slams her notebook shut. “Why am I here? What’s in the files? What’s so bad that you feel the need to do damage control?”

He leans back into the chair, considering her for a moment. “I ordered my father’s assassination.”

Rey sucks in a breath, her mind racing. Heinrich “Han” Solo had been part of the paid exchange along with his wife, but had died soon after. Reports had surfaced that he’d been in ill health after his imprisonment. “I thought he died after a short illness.”

“A short illness helped along by our man working across the border.”

Rey felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “You ordered your own father killed?” Her lips felt numb as they formed the words.

“Yes. Now ask me why.”

“W-why?”

“Because Snoke wanted a demonstration of my loyalty. He suspected me.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ask me why he was suspicious, Rey,” he says, his voice gentle.

“Why was he suspicious?” she parrots, her voice faint.

“Because I’d been playing both sides. For years.” He stands and begins pacing around the narrow pathway in front of the shelves. “Years. I’ve been torn apart. I tried to do the right thing and, by the end, I didn’t even know what the right thing was anymore.” It’s the first time Rey’s detected any sort of emotion behind his words and she watches in shock as he stops and pulls at his hair in frustration. “I’m tired. I want it all out in the open. Everything. All of it. And when it’s done, I’ll be free.”

Something lifts from her shoulders and a sense of purpose settles in its place. “All right. Let’s go back and start from the beginning.”

—————

Hours later, Rey’s eyes are burning and her hand is cramping, but she continues to write as fast as she can. The outline of the story is already there in the notebook—she can feel the shape and purpose of it. 

Finally, her hand stills and she looks up at the man sitting across from her. He looks tired, resigned, but determined. He’s rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing strong forearms above his large, blunt fingers and solid wrists. Rey swallows hard and her gaze travels up away from the mixture of violence and power she can see contained in just one small piece of his body.

“Okay. I think I have everything I need for now.” She leans forward and stops the recorder, moving to pack up her scattered pencils and notebook. “I’ll need to follow up with you over the next few days, for clarifications and fact checking.”

He nods and stretches, standing. “Of course.” 

She can feel his gaze on her, but she can’t look at him as she speaks her next words. “Who are my parents?”

Again, she senses, rather than watches, as he moves closer toward her. He moves suddenly to crouch down next to her, his face now even with hers. “You already know, don’t you? Say it,” he commands. 

She freezes in shock. “What?”

“Rey, you know more than what you allow yourself to remember. Say it.”

A rush of images come flooding back to her—snippets of conversation, hushed whispers, and the desire to forget. “They were alcoholics. Drug addicts,” she whispers.

“They left you because they were too busy getting high and trying to forget their lives here. They were nobody. They didn’t matter.” He reaches forward and brushes her cheek. “But you’re different, Reike.”

She feels the tears spill down her cheeks as she draws back from him abruptly. “Don’t touch me,” she spits. “I don’t need sympathy from—“

“From a monster?” he finishes. “Maybe I am a monster. But you understand, don’t you? Don’t you know? That’s why I chose you. We’re alike, you and I.”

Her sight blurs. “I’m nothing like you.”

“That’s what you tell yourself in the dark of the night to help yourself sleep, but you’re just as lonely as I am. You know what it’s like to be alone, abandoned by those who were supposed to love you. You made what choices you had to in order to survive. Deep down, even after everything I’ve told you here tonight, you still can’t bring yourself to hate me.”

“I do,” she chokes out. “I hate you.”

“You hate yourself more.” He moves to the bookshelf and grabs a folder, tossing it on to the coffee table. “This is everything my contacts were able to find. You’ll see, there’s not much there.”

Rey grabs for it but stops short of opening it, instead clutching it to her chest while taking several deep breaths. “I’m leaving. I’ll be in contact if I need clarification.” She’s pleased that her voice once again sounds even and controlled.

“Stay,” he says quietly.

She’s not sure she’s heard him correctly at first. “Stay?” she repeats, incredulous. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet his. What she sees there takes her breath away. She never expected to see a man like this begging, but the desperation is written all over his face. He _needs_. The need is naked and raw and Rey feels a swirl of desire stir low in her belly. The power he’s offering her with this admission is…. It’s heady.

Before she knows what she’s doing, she stands and crosses the distance between them. “Why? Why do you want me to stay? I want to hear you say it.”

His eyes slide shut briefly. “I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

Desire sends a shiver up her spine. The balance of power has shifted so abruptly that her head spins. “Sit on the couch,” she orders, her voice low.

He moves quickly to comply. After a moment, she follows, lowering herself to straddle him, her thighs trapping his. Her core is pressed against the front of him and she can feel how excited he is already. She tangles her fingers in his hair and looks down at him, tracing the shape of his prominent nose and the delicate sweep of moles across his cheeks with her eyes. Then, abruptly, she pulls hard on his hair and drags his mouth to hers.

Her kiss isn’t gentle. She hates him and she wants him and she pours that contradiction into the sharp nip of her teeth into his lower lip. She tastes blood and he moans into her mouth. Grinding down into him, she thanks her earlier self for choosing a sweater dress. Tugging it up further so it rides up around her waist, she begins rubbing herself against him in earnest. 

Finally, she pulls away from his mouth and watches his face as she continues to move against him. His features are contorted—tortured and desperate and the dark part of herself that she tries to ignore revels in it. He whimpers and chases after her mouth.

“No,” she says firmly. Instead, she reaches between them and unzips his pants, sliding her hand inside. She moves slowly to free him from the confines of his briefs and then there’s nothing between her hand and the smooth, soft skin of his cock. She groans in delight as her fingers trace the head, using his own wetness to lubricate the sweep of her hand.

He cries out and the sound is like liquid fire running through her veins. She moves her hand away and she pulls her panties to the side, using his shoulders to hold herself up before plunging down on to him. The moment he slides fully into her, he gasps and she feels her pleasure building quickly. She rides him with wild abandon, her movements frantic. His hands slide up to wrap around her waist and they urge her on.

His eyes soften and Rey can feel herself losing the upper hand. She doesn’t want him to look at her like that. Desperate to maintain a sense of power, she reaches between them and strokes herself, her eyes sliding shut as she focuses on the pleasure and nothing else. A moment later, he starts to shudder underneath her and her body clamps down on him. She comes with a flutter of her muscles and a quiet exclamation. 

Her body slumps forward and her forehead rests against the back of the couch as she tries to catch her breath. His arms move and he raises his hands hesitantly before placing them on her back, rubbing small, soothing circles. 

Rey allows herself a moment to enjoy the sensation before pulling away abruptly and standing, pulling her panties back into place and smoothing down her dress to cover her thighs once again. “I—should go.”

He looks up at her, his face relaxed and his beautiful hair mussed and something inside her aches. “Should you?”

“Yes. This was—a mistake. I shouldn’t—have.” She looks at him hesitantly. “Do you still want me to write the story?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Yes.”

She begins gathering her things, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She can’t bring herself to look at him again, but she senses his as he rights himself and stands. “Rey.”

She doesn’t respond, pretending not to hear him.

“Rey,” he repeats again, more firmly this time. He reaches for her hand as she moves to pick up the recorder from the table. “Look at me.”

Finally, she gathers her courage to look up at him and what she sees reflected in his eyes makes her shiver. “Yes?”

“You’re not alone,” he says, his voice soft.

“Neither are you.”

She stuffs the rest of her things into her bag and begins moving toward the door—but she can’t resist the urge to stop and gaze back at him. They stand there, just looking at one another for a moment longer. Then Rey turns and hurries out into the night.

—————

When the story comes out weeks later, Deputy Chairman Kylo Ren finds infamy seemingly overnight. There are those who vilify him—those who praise his courage. What’s clear is that there is no real consensus when it comes to his actions. The death threats arrive almost immediately and, just as quickly, Kylo Ren/Benjamin Solo disappears from the city of his birth.

Rey tries not to be hurt by his disappearance. She knows that what happened between them was nothing more than a moment of weakness on both their parts. Trying to make it mean something more was too painful. 

And so, Rey returns to London for a promotion and to forget that night. It’s better and it’s worse and sometimes she misses the Oma on the corner correcting her pronunciation. She tries not to think about whether or not that night meant anything more than two lonely people trying to find a connection in a moment of vulnerability.

She’s still trying not to think about it when she unlocks the door to her flat one night after work and a familiar deep voice rumbles softly from behind her.

“I told you, Reike. You’re not alone.”


End file.
